Like a Fairy Tale
by Indigo Ziona
Summary: A young Victorian boy is growing up, however precariously, in a world that used to make sense. But the bullies are now scared of him and his mother appears to be going mad... He's wondering who he is and he's about to find out.
1. Chapter 1

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Don't even bother telling me I should be writing my other stories. Heh :) As for ADI – ick, I still have a bit of writer's block… As for HFHE.. too depressing at the moment… As for Confessions of an Attention Seeking Hufflepuff – I'm halfway through the next chapter! It should be a fun story :) But here's a story that's been rolling around in my head for ages. Well, the first chapter thereof. This should be fun too. (Thanks to everyone who's reviewed ADI lately btw :)) Please review, even if it's to tell me I should be updating the others…

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Like a Fairy Tale

"Your mama's a whore!"

It was too easy for Bobby Green to do this. In these alleyways, boys would fight like cats and dogs, and Bobby was usually the ringleader. It would start by calling names – in this case, suggesting to his victim anything to do with workhouses or the virtue of his mother was usually quite enough – and eventually the boy who was the victim would usually attempt to fight. Except he couldn't fight, and would end up staggering off bruised. That would teach that stupid boy a lesson.

The boy who was the victim grit his teeth. Not this time, he vowed, he would just walk home and ignore all the pushing and punches, and even the awful things they said about his mother. He didn't care about the remarks about how he was more raggedy than most, he didn't mind every remark about how slow he was learning his lessons and he didn't even mind being pushed around that much, but what he really couldn't take was the insults against the best person he knew. His mama had been quite well off, once, when his father had still been around. But his father had left, and the rumours were that he wasn't actually the boy's father at all…

The boy tried to concentrate on something else. Even the uncomfortable chafe of his ill-fitting shoes against his bare feet was preferable to the sound of those awful lies.

"Din't you hear me? Din't you _hear _me? Your mama's a whore!"

Bobby pushed him around, so they were facing each other. His face was filled with scorn; the boy thought the face was the most hideous thing he'd ever seen. It was full of ignorant hatred.

"Go on, then, Allie, hit me. I need summing to laugh at."

The boy wanted to destroy him. Break every bone in his body.

"Go on," he taunted.

He'd hit him, and this time, _this time_…

Had something changed? He felt a bizarre sense of serenity for a moment, as he made his decision, and he balled his hand into a fist, and punched.

Bobby registered horror even before the fist reached his face. Something about the boy's wide and normally dull looking blue eyes had burned into fury, and when the fist made contact, it was more like a hurricane than the hand of a small boy. Some kind of fire shot up through the boy, like a spark going to a flame, and some kind of power had come out, throwing Bobby back several feet, and onto the ground with a painful thump.

For a moment there was silence. Bobby looked more shocked than hurt, but the shock was enough. The other boys who tagged along with him stared at the boy who was usually the victim in horror – and fear?

The boy swallowed, even though his mouth was drying up. He stared at Bobby dumbly, somehow satisfied, somehow scared beyond belief. He did the only thing that occurred to him, and ran away as fast as he could.

At home, his mother was lying asleep. She would work most of the night and most of the morning, and she was always so tired. He liked to watch her sleep, it was one of the few times she looked peaceful. They hardly seemed to see each other awake these days – he had his school and his work, she had her work – even with just the two of them, it seemed terribly hard just to get by. Sometimes it got so terribly lonely when she was asleep and him awake, he often preferred to spend endless hours wandering the streets than to wait for her to waken.

He put more coal on the fire, and rubbed his hands to get them warm. Even when he had sufficiently banished the cold, he was still shaking. He couldn't comprehend what had happened, there was no reason behind it. He scribbled on his slate at a pretense of practicing his lesson, but it was proving more a welcome distraction. What on earth would he tell his mother?

About an hour later, his mother arose and stumbled out of bed. "Evening Allie," she murmured, and spooned some tea into a teapot. As she carefully put the kettle in its place over the fire, she asked him how his day had been.

Whilst the boy had no particular desire to hide things from his mother, he was suddenly unwilling to bring up the strange events of the afternoon straight away. He murmured evasively, "Not bad."

She looked around at him, with mild concern. "Is there anything troubling you?" she asked, noting the tone in his voice. She knew him too well. He paused.

"Is it school?"

The boy gave a half-nod. He didn't want to worry her, but school was an old and well-used worry, not shocking or frightening or extraordinary. He knew his problems learning to read troubled her – he supposed he would never learn beyond the basic words. She would endeavour to teach him, but in her tiredness she could barely advance him beyond the little he picked up in school.

She embraced him – her warmth was comforting. She had used to tell him stories about rich magicians coming and taking them away from their troubles, and though it would have embarrassed him to say it, he still held on to those fantasies, still dreamed about a place where they would be safe from hardship. He relished the embrace for a moment, and watched her pour the tea. They were silent for a while.

"Is that Bobby Green still causing trouble?"

He looked up, about to give a quick answer, and then froze when he couldn't think of one. His mother's face tripled in concern. "Has he hit you again? I'll – I'll find that boy and give him such a thrashing, he'll…"

"I already did," the boy murmured, before he could stop himself.

Her face transformed into bewildered but pleased expression. "That's good, Allie, well done…" She stopped. "Allie, you don't look very pleased with yourself."

"I – it was strange, I was just so angry – and…" With his words, the recollection came back, and with the recollection came the fear of the unknown power that had somehow taken over. He shivered. "He – he flew back when I hit him, like there was a strong wind that knocked him down, not just me…"

His words sounded feeble. He couldn't express the feeling of power that had suddenly flown through him, or the sheer force that must have been behind that blow. He expected his mother to tell him not to be so silly.

She didn't. She looked horrified and pale – and suddenly he realised he _wanted _her to tell him not to be so silly, to give him some reasonable explanation.

"Mama?"

Her expression not changing, she looked at him. "It was probably just a strong gust of wind." But it sounded like she was saying this more to reassure herself.

The next morning, he wasn't so sure. Everyone knew that there was no such thing as magic, he _must _have imagined it. He had to think rationally.

At school, he couldn't concentrate – not that this mattered because he doubted he'd ever learn his lessons anyway, and the teacher was having such trouble disciplining the disruptive pupils that he was left alone. One day he'd get an apprenticeship and take care of his mother.

Towards the end of the afternoon, the teacher left him to take care of the smaller children. He couldn't teach them much, but found he had a gift for keeping them occupied. Today, however, he found himself struggling to pay attention to their stories, and instead of them settling down and working quietly at their handwriting, they were constantly acting up. He tried to force himself to be firm, but he felt too mixed up inside. Afterwards, he walked out feeling generally unsatisfied. Something was wrong. Something _inside of him_.

When he eventually got home again, the scene was much the same as the day before – his mother asleep, the fire burning low. Except there was a letter on the table.

He looked at it – it was in his mother's careful print, to a long name he couldn't pronounce. It was about him – he saw his own name. He saw a few small words he knew, but couldn't string them together to make out a meaning. Then he saw an odd word, a word his mother had taught him in her little unplanned lessons, a word from fairy tales and legends but nowhere else.

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Wizard.

He looked carefully. He could make out only one sentence, and that was his mother saying he was a wizard. Perhaps there was some other meaning to the word 'wizard'? The rest of the letter was a mystery to him. But he could only think of one explanation.

His mother had gone mad. She had started believing her own stories… and wizards were not people like him, they were old and wise, usually with huge white beards… And his mother had started believing in them. But if she were mad – she'd lose her work. They'd lock her up. He would be totally alone.

Maybe she was just sick. Maybe it was just a passing phase – maybe she would get better…

But if she didn't – if she were mad…

There was an envelope, but it hadn't been written on. There were no stamps, no Penny Black with its tiny portrait of Queen Victoria. Perhaps it was a joke. But it didn't seem funny…

On impulse, he seized the letter, screwed it up and threw it in the fire. The paper shrivelled, turned grey, then black, and vanished into ash. He didn't know how he should feel. No matter whether the letter was on the table or in the fire, it didn't make any difference to the contents. He felt sick. What was he going to do?

She woke up a little later, and went through her normal routine. It seemed so surreal, she was tired but not crazed, and as warm as ever. It was bizarre that his perception of her could change so much when in behaviour she was so stubbornly unchanging.

She sent him to bed earlier than usual, and he heard her scratching out another letter by the lamplight. Was his whole world falling down around him? His mother was mad. When in bed, he couldn't sleep, merely tossed and turned. When he slept, he couldn't rest – visions of asylum keepers coming to take his mother away were invading his dreams. Outside there were strange noises – like cooing almost, the call of some kind of bird he'd never heard before. He buried himself deep under his blanket, hoping to wake in a different world. But the morning world held ghosts of the night before…

The next week passed with an incongruous monotony. The rest of life in London was oblivious to the boy, carrying on as normal, as it had always done. His mother had shown no more symptoms of her impending madness, he hoped she had just been ill, and yet – he was bothered. Was _he _going mad, having imagined his improbable victory – yet Bobby Green stayed away now – and then misreading the letter she had written?

What was going on?

He wandered the streets alone, agonising over the problem. Life had always been hard, but he hadn't had any secrets from his mother, nor she from him. She was his only friend in the world – none of the other boys even remotely noticed him, thinking him too weak or too slow or too poor.

He urged himself to snap out of it. The other boys weren't worth a farthing compared to her, and in any case, if they weren't good enough to see him for the boy that he was then he shouldn't bother with them. That's what his mother had always told him.

When she wasn't mad.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sound – a woman squealing nearby. She looked well-off, and a thug had grabbed hold of her. The boy's heart beat faster. The thug pulled out a knife.

Not quite knowing what had possessed him, the boy ran towards them. He leapt upon the thug, who turned to wield the knife at him.

Except the knife had turned to dust and crumbled.

What _was _this? The thug gasped and fled, the woman fainted, and the boy ran too, realising he would look like the reason for the woman's faint. Although it appeared he _was_ the reason for the woman's fate. Or was he? Was the knife crumbling anything to do with him? Somehow – somehow… It was him. He didn't know how but something had come out of him, some kind of power. He walked home in a daze.

It was the same old routine when he got back – but then a knock at the door. Half-expecting the men from the asylum, the boy tentatively opened it.

The man he saw was tall, richly-dressed and around fifty. He smiled, a smile that was totally unpatronising.

No rich man smiled unpatronisingly. Few of them smiled, and all of them who did smiled in a patronising manner. They smiled when asking for a favour, smiled when giving you charity, and even the ones supposed to be genuinely unprejudiced, like the priests gave condescending, patronising smiles.

This man, however, gave a smile that seemed genuine. The boy was suspicious.

"My mama's asleep," he said protectively. Then he added, "Sir."

"That is no problem, young man, I did not come to see your mother."

"Then who…" He halted, remembering his manners.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said, in a tone that was surely reserved for equals and not surely small poor boys. The boy was dumbstruck.

He extended a hand, which the boy took, his suspicion rising.

"My name is Nicolas Flamel, and I'm here to talk to you, Albus Dumbledore."

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

As he put the kettle on to boil, the boy whose name was Albus Dumbledore watched Nicolas Flamel carefully. He sat back, seemingly at ease in their poor house, sitting on one of the hard chairs as if it was almost luxurious.

"Who are you?" Albus mused, not meaning to say it aloud.

Flamel looked amused at the question.

"I am the richest man in the world."

"Why are you in our house then? Sir."

"To see you."

"But I'm – poor…"

"And?"

Flamel regarded him with cool brown eyes. Something in his eyes was – affectionate, almost, as if he'd just found an old friend.

"Give a rich man time, Albus, and he'll discover that his riches are worth very little indeed."

"How much time?" That was a foolish question, he scolded himself. And not particularly respectful, even if he wasn't the richest man in the world. Flamel, however, gave a mischievious grin.

"About a hundred and fifty years should do it."

"No one could live that long."

"I have – and longer."

Another madman? But Flamel seemed, although odd, somehow sane. Maybe he was testing? Who _was _he?

Flamel seemed bored of waiting for a response. "Have you got a coin, young Albus?" Reluctantly, Albus felt around in his pockets, and reached for the smallest coin he could find. He held it out.

"Ah," Flamel said approvingly. "A farthing – worth only the quarter of a penny."

"I know my arithmetic, sir," Albus said, somewhat offended at this bland statement of the obvious.

"Aah, you may make an Arithmancer – but back to the farthing." Flamel reached into a pocket and produced a hand lens. He held it to the lamp and a shaft of light came through it.

"A single beam of light, do you see?" Albus nodded.

Flamel took a large jewel from another pocket, and placed it so the shaft of light shone through it.

"Place your farthing in the beam."

Light seemed to eat into the dulled metal of the coin, surprising Albus so much he dropped it. Flamel nudged it towards the beam again, and as he did so, Albus saw that part of the coin had turned yellow. In a few more seconds, the whole coin had turned the same, shining brown-yellow colour. Flamel handed the farthing back to him.

"That's the most expensive farthing you will ever own."

It was – gold?

"How…"

"The Philosopher's Stone…" Flamel tossed the jewel in his hand with a bizarre air of carelessness. "Gold from base metals, and immortality."

"That's impossible," Albus said flatly, having forgotten his manners entirely with the shock.

"Don't you believe in magic?"

"I…" Albus stopped. Flamel smiled again, this time the smile of one who knows he knows more than you do, and loves it. A rich man's smile – he had returned to the universe Albus knew, at least.

"My mama sent that letter to you, didn't she?"

"Ah, so you did read it."

Albus squirmed suddenly. To agree would be a lie as much as a denial would, yet he hardly felt predisposed to confess his shame to a stranger.

"I… glanced at it."

"Actually she did not send the letter to me – I was shown it by the true recipient. But we will discuss that later…"

The true what? Albus was unwilling to show his ignorance, but had to wonder if he'd missed something vital about whoever it was his mother had sent the letter to.

The kettle made its shrill whistle, and his mother made a few low groans as she began to awaken – he spooned extra tea into the teapot and collected the kettle from its place.

"Allie, why were you boiling the kettle?" she moaned, still half-awake.

She sat up, and saw Flamel sitting in the chair. Albus looked at him, and saw him to be wearing an expression of consternation.

"Hello Isabelle."

*

Isabelle Dumbledore had met Nicolas Flamel only once before, and that was a decade ago. Curiously enough, he was unchanged, even dressing in a similar archaic fashion.

She felt exposed and vulnerable, as dressed down as she was, wearing only a loose gown for sleeping in. He didn't even look uncomfortable. Hastily, she pulled a shawl around her.

"I…" She wasn't going to play the poor girl, not bow to his riches, and neither was she going to act ashamed for being a Muggle next to so great a wizard. Aurelius would only win that way.

"I expected Aurelius," she said.

"He didn't want to come." Abrupt, and obviously true. Aurelius didn't want to see riches to rags, like some perverse fairytale or reverse alchemy.

"Even now, he doesn't care?"

"He doesn't know whether to care."

Isabelle saw her son staring at them in mild disbelief. Bewilderment. Flamel hadn't explained, obviously.

"Albus, pour the tea," she murmured. She rarely used his full name – _he_ had picked it, after all. She didn't know why she used it now.

Obediently, her son poured the tea into three cups. Isabelle almost hoped that Flamel would find it bitter, and be shocked by the poorness of it. He drank it as if it were nectar.

"Do you tire of being rich now?" she asked him snappily.

"Isabelle?" Confusion. She had never really spoken to him, and besides, things had been very different before. Because of his love for Aurelius, she was sure he hated her. Yet he appeared to care for her son, and that was a good thing.

"Why are you here?"

"To do what Aurelius won't. To meet this son of yours. He'll go to Hogwarts, you know, and in the mean time I'd like to invite you both to live with me."

Albus's jaw dropped – the boy tended to be a bit dreamy but he wasn't stupid, he knew what living with Flamel meant almost as well as Isabelle did. But he didn't know about Hogwarts.

"Allie," she began. "I had better explain. You're a wizard."

He swallowed, and nodded. "I know."

Flamel looked at him interestedly. "Accepted it so soon?"

"I – I'm not a proper wizard, I can't do spells and things, but sometimes…"

"Strange things happen," Flamel supplied. "Young wizards, especially when untrained, cannot control or focus their power. It just comes out. You will learn how to do spells, and brew potions, and other things as well. I should imagine that in a few months you will receive your letter from Hogwarts school, asking you to attend. Perhaps I had better explain from the beginning…"

*

Albus's head was swimming. He had been told his father was a wizard, but they had not been sure if he was one until he had told his mother about the incident with Bobby Green. He had been told that Hogwarts was a school for people like him, where they learned how to say spells, brew potions, and even ride broomsticks. However, details had been carefully glossed over. Why had his father left in the first place? Flamel had told him a little of the Dark Arts, and various dark wizards – Albus wondered if perhaps there was some secret reason to do with this why his father had gone and never returned. He felt uneasy.

Flamel produced a small pot. "I took the liberty of adding you to the Floo network before I arrived. I Apparated, naturally, but this is a method even Muggles can use." Albus's mother gave Flamel a curt nod. He tossed a little powder into the flames – Albus gasped as they changed colour.

"Would you like to go first, Isabelle? Northcote Manor."

She stepped _into _the fire, after only a moment's hesitation, and with not even the slightest glimpse of fear. She had done this before. Albus felt as if his mother had somehow turned into someone else, someone who navigated this strange and disturbing new world with ease. It was the world of the stories she had told him, and she was transformed.

He gasped when she vanished, suddenly anxious that Flamel had in fact played a horrible trick. But his mouth was dry, and when he opened it to voice his concerns, Nicolas Flamel was nudging him towards the flames. Caught in indecision, Albus allowed himself to be guided into the unnatural fire. "Say 'Northcote Manor' loud and clear," Flamel instructed, his tone inexorable. Albus took a deep breath.

"Northcote Manor."

*

He was alive. And more, he was standing in a palace, with tiny servants scuttling all over. The place seethed with riches, gold and silver, tapestries and drapes… He was standing in a massive hallway with impossibly shiny marble paving, over which was laid a rug woven out of a thousand colours - and for a moment he thought he was surrounded by people, and then he saw that the walls were covered with portraits that _moved_…

One of the servants was carefully brushing him down. The servant was smaller than him, and not a person at all, but a wide-eyed creature. His mother was, once again, taking it all in her stride; Albus was taken aback as she commanded at one of the creatures, ordering it to get clean clothes for the both of them. She was never so direct, not even to beggars who bothered her when she could barely spare a farthing. Then she saw her son's face, and her stony expression instantly melted.

"Oh Allie," she said. "We're safe."

Her tone was relieved. But he couldn't _feel _safe, and he felt infinitely better when her motherly instinct caused her to reach for his hand, even if he _was _too old for that now.

Nicolas Flamel appeared. One moment there had been a space, and there next there was Nicolas Flamel.

A slow gentle smile appeared on his face as he regarded Albus's awed expression. Then it transformed into a smirk, then a grin, and he was a rich man again.

"Welcome, friends, to my home." He paused. "_One_ of my homes," he added. Albus's mouth dropped open, but Isabelle merely scowled. "Allow the House Elves to show you to your rooms."

The creatures led Albus and his mother up staircases and corridors, leading them to two rooms that were the size of houses. It appeared they were to be separated.

"This is your room, Mistress Isabelle," one of the creatures squeaked to his mother, whilst another tugged his sleeve.

His mother kissed him, now completely at ease and seemingly oblivious to his own bewilderment. "If you need anything Allie, you know where I am."

"But…"

She gave a gentle smile. "You're perfectly safe. I'll see you in the morning."

She deserted him. Albus was led into a room, with a mountainous looking bed, and a shiny table that had a knife and fork on it. The creature tapped the table, and a plate of steaming food appeared.

"Master Albus should make himself comfortable."

Then the creature vanished. He was alone. His mother said he was safe, but… Nothing here was right. It was all surreal make-believe, but this _wasn't_ a dream, so what was it? Although the food on the table smelled delicious, he didn't believe that he could eat anything. Instead, he kicked off his shoes, scaled the massive bed, and crawled under the covers, hoping that the morning would bring some sort of reality.

*

Albus awoke, and was immediately scolded by one of the creatures - a House Elf? - for leaving his food and for sleeping in his clothes. He was rendered speechless by this small squealing thing, and could barely utter a syllable before it motioned to some clothes that had not been there the day before, and scurried away.

The clothes were obviously expensive, and after washing, Albus put them on very slowly and carefully to avoid so much as crinkling them. They fit him perfectly, and observing himself in a looking-glass, he was startled to see that they completely changed his appearance. The alley boys would never have recognised him, they would have offered to polish his shoes and begged him for a penny. The image made Albus chuckle, and although still uneasy, he felt a little better. After dressing, he went to go find his mother only to discover her room was empty, and clean as if it had never been occupied. Seized with panic, he stalked the labyrinthine corridors hoping to find her, only to get hopelessly lost. In his bewilderment the day before, he had failed to notice the route they had taken.

Luckily for him, he saw another House Elf, who swiftly directed him to follow it. He was lead into a massive dining hall, with a long table. At the end of it sat Nicolas Flamel and a stately lady, and Flamel smiled and called for him to sit down.

As he did so, breakfast appeared in front of him.

"Eat up," said Flamel magnanimously. Tentatively, Albus reach for the cutlery. Then he recalled the original objective of his search.

"Where's Mama?"

"She has been up many hours, so I allowed her to peruse the library. Your mother was a great scholar when I knew her, Albus, and it appears she would like to continue from where she had to abandon her studies."

Once again, he had made an uncomfortable reference to a version of his mother that Albus didn't know.

"May I see her?"

"After breakfast."

Albus paled a little at his firm tone, realising he was stuck until he at least finished eating the food in front of him, and seeing his expression, the lady laughed.

"Perhaps you should be a little kinder to our guest, Nicolas," she said.

Flamel smirked mischievously. "Perhaps so, but the boy needs to eat and he didn't eat his dinner last night." He turned to Albus. "Albus, this is my wife, Perenelle." At the introduction, Albus instinctively got to his feet. Flamel's wife extended her hand. "How do you do, young master Albus?" she said, as she shook his hand.

"I'm - fine…" he squeaked, and she laughed again, and motioned that he should sit down, dispensing with formalities. _Master_ Albus? But he was little more than a ragged uchin. He continued eating.

*

Afterwards, a House Elf led him to the library, an imposing room full of great tomes. His mother - or someone who looked like her - was sitting in an armchair, immersed in one of the volumes. Her dress was of sable, flowing and rich. She looked beautiful.

"Mama," he murmured.

She looked up, saw him, and gave an expression of pure delight, not unlike a child who had discovered some secret treasure.

"Books, Allie! Real books!" His face did not reflect her enthusiasm. She sighed. "And you look so very handsome," she said, a wistful tone in her voice. "Nicolas and Perenelle…" she was on Christian name terms with them! "Nicolas and Perenelle are letting us stay until you go to Hogwarts. Just think, Allie, we'll live like royalty."

He sat down in another chair. "Mama… This morning you weren't in your room."

"I woke up early. I always do…" she seemed puzzled at the worried sound in his voice. She couldn't guess what was troubling him. It pained him to admit it. "Mama, I'm frightened."

"There is no need to be," she said softly. "You're safe and sound, and when you belong."

_Where he belonged? _But he was no royal child, no fairy-tale figure. How could he belong here?

***

_A/N – Thank you to my reviewers of Chapter 1!_

_Zeynel!_

_Slytherin's Silver Snake!_

_Bettina!_

_Odd World – eek, I feel severely chastised *murmurs apologies*…  Yes, the Plot Bunnies are evil but I haven't abandoned the other fics, I promise!  I want to write another chapter of HFHE really soon but I'm so damn busy!!  Grrrr!_

_Admiral Albia! (thanks for reviewing **Hermione goes back in time and falls in love** :)_

_Gina Starr! (thank you for your multiple reviews too :D)_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3** __

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster Professor E. Zephyra

Dear Mr. Dumbledore,

I am pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As one of a number of privileged scholars, you will be trained by teachers of worldwide renown in all the essential subjects for a young wizard.

Term will start on September 1st. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.

Yours sincerely,

Professor E. Zephyra, Headmaster.

Flamel read with a note of pride in his voice. Albus could not help but feel pleased, tickled by the idea of him receiving such an exclusive education, but then he looked at his mother and his pleasure faded.

She looked bleak. "Mama, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, Allie…"

His look said it all - _liar._

"I'll just - miss you, that's all."

He was suddenly alarmed. Flamel laid a hand on his shoulder. "You'll see her again at Christmas."

Albus felt instantly foolish for his pride. How could he leave her behind? Instinctively, he clung to her, knowing that the act was childish but the impulse was stronger than his dignity. She held onto him, tears growing in her eyes. She blinked them back.

Albus stood back. He took a deep breath and turned to Flamel.

"Sir, I will not go."

Flamel actually _laughed_. Albus blushed, offended at this reaction to his decision.

"Albus, I understand why you don't want to go to Hogwarts. However, you _must_ go; as a juvenile wizard, you could be dangerous to those around you. You need training."

He was subdued a little by Flamel's tone. Then an idea occurred to him. "Couldn't you teach me? Then I wouldn't have to leave Mama. Please - Nicolas…" Although it was the way Flamel had asked Albus to address him, he still felt dreadfully rude as he said Flamel's given name. But perhaps addressing him as a friend was the only way to get through to him.

Flamel shook his head sadly. "Hogwarts is the best place."

He looked at his mother. Though pale, she nodded. They would make him go.

*

Albus studied the letter in his room later on. His reading had definitely improved since he had arrived - his mother had been able to give him much more guidance. But he still had trouble interpreting many of the longer words. He felt troubled, having realised that he was going to Hogwarts almost totally unprepared. No doubt he would be the worst in the class.

He also, although he hated to admit it, felt dubious about leaving his mother with Flamel. It was plain Flamel liked _him_, but he addressed his mother with a strange, patronising tone. He didn't seem to like her.

A few days later, Flamel informed him they were going to go out and buy the things he needed for Hogwarts. They travelled by Floo to an inn in London - Albus had actually seen the inn before, and even noted that the most strangely dressed people went into it, but he had never been inside.

Now he was there, he saw an outlandish collection of folk, many in brightly coloured robes, and some with pointed hats that were rather like dunce's caps in a way. Some wore jewellery with strange symbols, some were merely peculiar. He saw a couple both dressed in violet coloured robes, whose small daughter wore a strange but pretty puce coloured dress that had golden stars embroidered on it. When he watched them, they seemed to twinkle…

Flamel took him through a door, and showed him not the London he knew but a long street filled with people like those in the inn - witches and wizards, he forced himself to remember. The wondrous street, and all its strange paraphernalia, seemed commonplace to them. Albus couldn't ever see himself being one of them.  Flamel led him past a shop filled with strange and wonderful animals, an apothecary's with a glittering sign that changed colour and a _broomstick_ shop where children his age pressed their noses to the glass as if it were a baker's - they whispered to each other excitedly.

"Most likely they've picked out their favourite broom for the next Quidditch season," Flamel said.

Of course - witches and wizards rode broomsticks. Flamel had said. But what was Quidditch? He supposed he'd find out soon enough…

Flamel led him into the bank - not a drab affair, filled with men in black suits, but an exotic and almost fear-inspiring magnificence, with gargoyles that appeared to glare at them as they walked in. The paving beneath their feet seemed to swirl as they walked.  If Albus looked down to his feet for too long, he imagined they were floating precariously over an expanse of ocean that would swallow them into its deep abyss. More strange creatures were here, fearsome beady-eyed things.

"Goblins," Flamel murmured by way of explanation. He seemed unperturbed by their surroundings, and once again, Albus felt like a stranger.

Flamel stopped by one of the goblins, and handed it a large lump of gold.

"Give me about twenty Sickles, and make the rest Galleons."

"One moment, sir." The goblin's voice was an eerie sound from another world. In a few minutes, he had produced a large pile of beautifully shiny gold and silver coins.

"Wizard money," Flamel said. "None of this pounds, shillings and pence nonsense. Twenty-nine bronze Knuts to a silver Sickle, seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon. Simple."

Albus winced. "I don't know my twenty-nine times tables."

"Even so, a wizard would never introduce such complications as half-pence and guineas." Flamel put the coins in a seemingly bottomless purse, and then took him back out onto the street.

Albus had his school uniform fitted in a shop with a sign that read _Malkin the Tailor_.  Mr. Malkin himself, was a thin man with a careful eye and a tape measure that appeared to be attached to his fingers. It was an experience for Albus, who as used to having his clothes bought cheaply or made by only his mother's needle – certainly not by magic.

Flamel looked grave as he led Albus to the place where he would buy his wand. "This is a moment you'll remember forever," he said.

Inside, it was a dark and cobwebby shop, all the walls covered in small boxes neatly stacked. A boy was sitting at the front desk, writing with a quill. He looked barely nineteen, but had an enigmatic look, and he arose from his seat with utmost refinement.

He looked at them both.

"Mr. Flamel – and Master Dumbledore, am I correct?"

"Correct indeed," Flamel responded. Albus felt queasy. How had he known who he was?

"The resemblance is not striking but none the less, it is there," the boy murmured. "I am Ollivander. I take it this is the occasion to buy a wand for Master Dumbledore?"

"I was expecting the elder Mr. Ollivander," Flamel said fastidiously. The boy gave an unreadable twitch of a smile.

"I am afraid he is not available. You may, of course, come back another time, however I am fully able to administer to the boy's wand myself."

Flamel looked uncomfortable at the boy's rather eerie, self-possessed tone. He swallowed.

"Very well. Albus, hold your hand out to Mr. Ollivander."

He did so. Ollivander took a tape, and carefully measured his fingers. His eyebrows raised and he murmured, "Interesting."

He reached for a box, and withdrew from it a smooth stick.

"Ash and unicorn tail-hair, twelve inches, good for charms. Try it."

Albus took the wand Ollivander proffered, feeling it to be a little warm.

"Not right?" Ollivander took it from him, pulled out another box, and said, "Rowan and dragon heart-string, ten and a half inches, slightly flexible."

What exactly is he looking for? Albus mused, as he was allowed to hold that wand too, for a fraction of a second.

This process was repeated thirty-fold. The last wand the young Mr. Ollivander placed into his hand was oak, with the heartstring of a Chinese Mountain Dragon. As soon as he touched it, a shower of yellow sparks was emitted. Albus dropped the wand hastily, and Ollivander tutted, picking it up and placing it back into his hand.

"It won't hurt you," he muttered irritatedly. "Try again."

He flicked the wand, and once again, a cascade of yellow, near-golden sparks flew out, like a tiny firework. Unexpectedly, he felt a wave of exhilaration. This was right. This was _him_. Inexplicably, he felt freedom well up inside him.

Flamel was smiling. "That's yours." He placed some money on the counter.

"Of course," Mr. Ollivander said. "The wand chooses the wizard. The Chinese Mountain Dragon – ah, sadly nearly extinct, but a proud race. I believe scholars consider this dragon to be the symbol of the Chinese Year of the Dragon… And of course, a wand fashioned of the heart of oak is quite formidable. I expect that we shall see great wisdom in you, Master Dumbledore."

At this apparently unlikely prediction, Albus could not help but stare at the boy-turned-man.

Flamel was looking at him too. "I see the habit of making trite observations runs in the family."

His tone was uncomfortably cool, but Ollivander seemed unaffected. "My ancestors have been selling wands to wizards for centuries, Mr. Flamel, and I consider that we have learned a little of how a wand identifies human character. As for yourself, I would say pine and heart-string of a Norwegian Ridgeback?"

The gradually growing smirk on Flamel's face vanished.

"You kept a record of me?" he asked, incredulously.

"Actually no," said Mr. Ollivander. "But from the knowledge I have of you, it seems an apt choice. I do, of course, remember every wand I have ever sold."

"And how many is that?"

"Precisely eleven," he said. He counted the money, and put it into a box under the counter. "Good day to you."

*

After that peculiar experience, they headed to the bookshop.

"Textbooks," Flamel said lightly. "I am surprised that you don't like reading as much as your mother."

Flamel could be surprising naïve sometimes, Albus mused. "I'd rather have a good pair of socks," he mumbled. Surely Flamel would have realised why he had asked him to read out the letter from Hogwarts, if nothing else. He handed him the book list.

"Some new additions this year," Flamel mused. "Too bad they haven't got rid of Goshawk's books, they're severely outdated. I hear his great granddaughter is working on a new edition – the sooner the better, I think." He scanned the paper further. "Ah, Versinia Pestis's tome on Defence Against the Dark Arts. I never studied that subject – but then I was at Hogwarts an _exceptionally_ long time ago. And of course, we _never_ had to bring a copy of the 1611 Authorised Version of the Bible."

"Didn't you study Religious Instruction?" Albus asked, curiously.

"Many witches and wizards are not particularly fond of the Christian faith," Flamel said. "It was particularly difficult to encourage them to learn a subject which apparently caused the persecution of many of our kind. Perhaps there are demons that give Muggles a sort of magic. I wouldn't know. But it seems to me that if there is a God, _he_ gave us magic. Of course, people tend to assume that whatever they don't understand is wrong – and persecution comes from fear, rather than faith… Or so they say."

His frown gradually faded. "Nowadays," he continued conversationally, "the pendulum swings the other way. Muggleborns' parents would accept their gifts providing they get a good Christian education. So, it is included, to please the Muggleborns. The Friar at Hogwarts is a wizard himself, of course, old Hufflepuff boy."

This curious mix of religion and magic swam around Albus's head for a while. He had so much to learn.

"What's a Muggleborn?"

"A witch or wizard born of non-magical parents."

"Is that possible?"

Flamel looked at him. "You have red hair and blue eyes – neither of your parents do. Don't you think that's a little odd? It's a mystery of nature. Incidentally, when I was at Hogwarts, the 1611 Bible had not yet been printed." 

He bought the books.

"I think it's time for some dinner."

*

Before they headed back to the inn, Flamel let him stop and look in the window of the magical menagerie. He marvelled at the juggling rats, the lively toads that jumped through hoops, and the slinky cats with their golden eyes. Flamel pointed out puffskeins, a box full of flobberworms, a great tank of magical fish. He had just been staring enthralled at a beautiful silver fish that frequently changed shape, when he was startled by a burst of flame in the corner of his eye.

He looked up. A small fire had started in a cage – it was dying out.

"What was that?" he wondered aloud.

"A phoenix, I should think," Flamel said. Albus stood on tiptoes to look. A tiny chick brushed the remaining embers off itself.

"What is it? A sort of dragon?"

"A bird," Flamel laughed. "When it becomes very old it bursts into flames, then it becomes a chick again in the ashes."

"That's… amazing."

"Incredibly loyal pets," Flamel elaborated. "And their tears have healing powers, you know."

"I'd like a loyal pet," Albus said, perhaps rather wistfully. He used to fantasise about having a dog, perhaps, or a horse with a shiny chestnut coat that was docile and speedy… Flamel had an owl, a great beautiful barn owl called Socrates. There was something very lovely about the thought of an animal who would be your friend. They weren't complex and confusing like people.

"Let's go inside," Flamel said unexpectedly. He pushed the door open.

Flamel went to point out a niffler. "It's used for finding gold – I wouldn't have much use for one, unless I'd forgotten where I put it…" Albus dutifully admired the small friendly creature, and likewise marvelled at the Golden Snidget, but eventually, overcome with fascination, he went to examine the phoenix more closely.  A card on the cage showed a large bird with impressive plumage, however now this was not the case. Even so, there was something disturbingly intelligent about the wary glance the phoenix gave its surroundings. Involuntarily, he reached into the cage and tickled the phoenix beneath the chin. It looked at him with wide, pretty eyes, and although it seemed ludicrous to put an expression on that beaked face, he could have sworn it was smiling at him…

"Albus, come over here," Flamel called.

Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away, and went to where Flamel was standing at the counter.

The shop proprietress, a blonde, middle-aged woman with dark blue robes, approached.

"May I help you, sir?" she asked.

Flamel broke into another one of his strange smiles. He put some money down.

"Please give this boy his phoenix."

***

_A/N – Thank you to my reviewers. _

Landersh – Thanks, I'm glad you appreciate the POV, it's always been something central to how I write – probably because I used to make up stories with me in them and when I got older, I would seriously self-analyse ;)

Bettina – Thanks :) Strangely enough, I'm finding it easier to write a young Dumbledore than a young Snape (as I do in Hogwarts Friends, Hogwarts Enemies), in many ways he's less complicated. Also it's fun fitting in the little things Dumbledore says into the plot (you may notice a few of them in this chapter!).

AgiVega – Yay! As you know, I love the picture. I'm glad you like it. Heh, yeah it could have very easily been Albus instead of Nicolas.

Star Gazer – *giggles* good tip. Yes, in many ways, it's very fun writing Dumbledore's childhood – because we don't have very much idea of what he was like… Glad you like it.

Odd World – Hiya! This soon enough for you? :) I'm glad you like Nicolas, I read a wonderful essay on him in the Harry Potter Lexicon which inspired me. He's an interesting character.

Wood's secret lover – Heh, good for you. I'm glad you like it!

Gina Starr – Hmm… Maybe he is. Maybe he isn't. Who knows? :) Ooh, you like it more than ADI? *big grin* There's another quite Weasley-heavy chapter of that coming up, it prompted me to parody 'Gangsta's paradise' (see 'Prankster's Paradise' :) )

A/N2 – Could someone please go review the latest chapter of Hogwarts Friends, Hogwarts Enemies – no one has so far:(

A/N3 – Thanks to AgiVega for giving me her feedback on a little preview I gave her :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He'd been a bit embarrassed, of course.  He hadn't wanted to look like he was hinting, although he was very grateful.  He looked at the phoenix – the woman had explained that it was male, and only a few years old.  It gave him a look as if to say that it had planned things this way.

"What are you going to call him?" Flamel asked, as they walked back to the inn to eat.

Names…  names.  Something to do with fire maybe?  He got the impression that the bird didn't really mind what he was called.  Perhaps he had some sort of phoenix name that Albus could only guess at.  He chuckled.  "What about Fawkes?"

Flamel laughed.  "Why not?"

Back in the inn, Flamel ordered them dinner, and Albus couldn't resist peering at his new pet.  Fawkes looked at him with such…  well…  it was silly.  Such understanding.  It was uncanny.

He became gradually aware that on another table, a small girl about his age was staring at him.  Or was it at the bird?  He became a little uncomfortable, having his quiet unspoken communion disturbed by prying eyes.  Eventually, she approached.

"Excuse me," she said, a little haltingly.  "May I have a look at your phoenix?"

He nodded, silently.  Very quietly she leaned down to observe.  Fawkes did not seem disturbed.  He cooed and sang.  It was an eerily beautiful sound…

The girl was coy, rather scruffy in a leafy-green dress, and with flecked brown hair.  She stared at Fawkes with obvious awe.

They sat this way in complete silence until the girl's parents came up behind, a cosily middle-aged couple who looked like they had been living comfortable, average lives.

"Come along Elise, it's time to go," her mother said, in an exasperated, yet affectionate voice.  The girl got up regretfully, and nodded to Albus in acknowledgement.

"Say thank you to – what's your name, lad?"  The father addressed him – he stood up.

"I'm Allie – Albus."

"Thank you Albus, for letting my daughter look at your lovely phoenix."  He chuckled.  "Of course, they look rather ugly when they're young."

"I think he's lovely," the girl mumbled.  "Thank you – Allie."  She smiled earnestly.  He met her gaze.  She looked away.

"Now Elise, we promised you a familiar, too…" They led her away.  She glanced back, and took one last lingering look at Fawkes.

*

"She looked liked a Higgins," said Flamel, who had been watching her with interest.  "Grantham Higgins was a writer on herbology and magical fauna – his family tended to be mainly country-dwelling.  She looked like she'd seen all the magical creatures in the world but hardly any other children."

Albus watched her back as she finally left.  She clung to both her parents, hand in hand with both, looking rather vulnerable.  He wondered how she'd cope when she went to Hogwarts.

That brought his thoughts lurching nauseatingly back home.  For a moment, he'd been excited by the magic within him; forgotten about his mother and about the small children who counted him as their friend, and about where he'd come from.  Granted, not everything he'd forgotten was worth remembering, far from it, but he still felt somewhat treacherous.  He had a deep, aching desire inside him for life to be different to how it had been so far.  To be accepted.  To be recognised – to be understood?  But did that have to mean leaving Mama?  He berated himself for somehow betraying himself – he was not standing by his proud statements of earlier, he was letting himself be persuaded.

He fixed Fawkes with a doleful expression, as if to ask him why he had tricked him into this.  Of course, the phoenix was a sign that he could never go back.  Fawkes was a symbol of the rich, magical world, and even though he wanted to stay with his mother, he wasn't sure he could give up Fawkes, or even that peculiar exhilaration he'd felt when he had found his wand, just to stay with her.  The magical part of him was pushing its way out relentlessly, assuring him that he would indeed cast spells…  After seeing so many witches and wizards at work, he actually wanted to learn magic but – but….

He was lost.  So where did he belong?  He looked to Flamel, who was seemingly oblivious to his dilemma, munching happily on some chicken.  He looked at Fawkes, and mentally implored him to answer.  Where do I belong?

With me, said Fawkes's complacent expression.

*

As soon as she saw it, Isabelle disliked the phoenix.  Or perhaps that wasn't strictly true.  She disliked the idea of the phoenix.  It was an extravagant present from Aurelius's good friend, it looked like a bribe to win Albus to their side.  She disliked it all the more for the fact that Allie obviously adored it.  Horrible little creature…  and, of course, it was magical.  She wouldn't have liked one of those hyper-intelligent cats either, but a cat would not have been so exotic – so plainly not Muggle.

She had been pleased to discover that her son was a wizard…  Yes, she had been pleased.  She still wanted the best for him, all her best motherly instincts (and, indeed, a certain desire for revenge) demanded that she let Nicolas lavish his excessive wealth on him.

But he wasn't hers anymore.  They were changing him, bit by bit, into another one of them.  Another one of those who had shattered her personal world with their smug assumed superiority.  Was it selfishness?  When he was neglected, he was all hers; loyal, humble, and delighted when she could lavish her meagre wealth on him.  Her son.  Her own.  She could conveniently pretend she was a figure of great compassion, but now the pretence was over – now she needed him much more than he needed her.

She was, she realised, desperately lonely.  Had it always been like this?  She could remember one dim time where contentment had filled her life, but it vanished so quickly she wondered if it had been merely an illusion.  Albus had shown her his uniform, and she had cried.  Not the gentle proud tears of a mother, but the lost tears that came of losing the only person who loved her.

Gritting her teeth, Isabelle illogically scolded herself for being melodramatic (another part of her protested at having the soul-wrenching concerns trivialised as melodrama – but with affected stoicism she ignored it).  She wanted the best for Allie.  And no matter how much it pained her, that was what she would give to him.

*

Albus was surprised how used he had become to the extensive wealth by which he was surrounded.  Obviously, he hadn't completely lost all habits – but it faintly depressed him to realise that he was actually becoming accustomed to too-comfortable luxury.  It was somewhat stifling.

He had never seen his mother like this.  Not on the poorest days had she ever displayed such apathy.  She seemed – inconsolable.  It seemed like his own inner instincts were pulling him away from her.  And whatever pain it was, he wanted to help her.

In simpler, non-magical days, his dreams had been straightforward.  He would become an apprentice, learn until he was master, then take care of his mother and live comfortably.  Flamel had, in an attempt to arouse his interest, told him of the various occupations a wizard might take up, but they were all strange and alien to him.

"What did you want to be, when you were at Hogwarts?" he asked suddenly.

Flamel smirked.  And then he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, "Richer than Solomon and older than Methuselah."

"I thought you said riches were worth very little," Albus commented.

"I know that now.  Even so, a mind needs to be occupied, and as time goes on, young Albus, you will discover that there is very little you can do to better the world."

As his cynical tone, Albus gave him a surprised look.  "You could better the world," he said, earnestly.

"No Albus.  All I could do is change it."

*

He would never forget the last time.  The procession.  His belongings packed.  He had more belongings than he'd ever had: the stack of books, a bundle of Hogwarts' robes, a cauldron – a broomstick, Flamel had insisted, although he was too afraid to use it – his wand, and of course, Fawkes.  His mother was stony faced, not even crying, not now.  He was being packed away like a rich boy to a private school, and he wondered if he would ever be the same again.  Perhaps not.

They did not travel by Floo.  They travelled more as the rich than the magical, Flamel loaded his possessions onto a carriage drawn by two horses; silky, docile, chestnut creatures.  Albus sat between Flamel and his mother.  She absent-mindedly drew her hands across her dress to straighten it, Albus looked to her and she did not meet his gaze.  Flamel was silent too – not sad, but serious, and lost in his own thoughts.  Even Fawkes made no sound – he was asleep in his cage.  Albus's stomach shifted around inside him, as the future, an entirely unknown world, came rushing towards him.  He watched the countryside go past with a bleak sense of the inevitable.

They stopped in the middle of a great field, lined at the edges with satin-like morning mist.  Flamel stepped out with his usual ease, and his mother concealed her stiffness with a stately manner as she, too, stepped out of the carriage.  Albus followed her, warily, only to hear the screech of some kind of animal, so loud and piercing that he felt that his very bones had shaken within him.  A deep-seated panic rising up inside him, he at last steppd out, and looked up.

Dragons.  He had been half-incredulous at Ollivander, but here they were, scales and wings.  Instinctively he went for his mother's hand, and noticed that she had turned pale as ice.  The awesome site of them one hundred feet high, flaming and snorting and beating their great wings, sent shivers through him, shot pure terror through his heart.  He forced himself to look up, to confront these terrible creatures.

"Common Welsh Greens," said Flamel lightly.  "Dragon breeding is now incredibly restricted, but these come from old stock.  And besides, the dragon flight to Hogwarts is traditional."

Dragon flight?

"You're not going to let Allie near one of them?"  His mother had lost her stoniness, she was breathing fast – he was surprised she didn't faint.

"Isabelle."  Flamel's voice was unexpectedly tender.  It was rarely tender, when he spoke to her.  It was usually a tone that suggested he suffered her because he had to.  "No one has ever been hurt from one of these dragons."

Albus's luggage was brought out, and his mother caught him fast, holding him tight and allowing a few tears to wet his face.  He kissed her.  No words were said.  Flamel led him away, towards the beast.

One of the dragon handlers noted his appearance.

"First year, is it?"

Albus did not respond, struck dumb by the feeling of everything at once.  "That's right," Flamel told him, and some more men took Albus's luggage, and he, carrying Fawkes in his cage, was led up a wooden staircase into a large compartment, attached to the back of the dragon.  More children his age were there, some at ease, some apprehensive.  He looked behind him.

"Good luck!" Flamel called up.  A transitory smile passed his face.  He swallowed, and then went inside.

Inside it was lined with seats, comfortably cushioned.  A shudder underneath caused him to hastily sit, feeling lost and out of place.  He dug into his pocket, and pulled out another sherbet lemon.

***

A/N – Whoo, I need to update Confessions of an Attention Seeking Hufflepuff and then I'm all up to date.  Well, nearly :-)

_A/N2 – Thank you to my reviewers – _

**AgiVega** – Of course you and I know the _real_ reason why Albus got the phoenix *winks* :-)  It troubles me that no one at Hogwarts ever seems homesick.

**You-Know-Who** – Thanks a lot!

**Gina Starr** – Heh, Ollivander is scary…  I'm trying to write this with the understandable sense of astonishment as well as trying not to rewrite _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone.  For some reason I was seized with a sudden desire to write Ollivander as a teenager, probably just so I could get him to say "I remember every wand I've ever sold."_

**Slytherin's Silver Snake** - *Smile* glad you like it.  I started searching fanatically for grammatical errors after your message and you're right, there are a few :-)  I'll have to correct them.

**figgiesblazin – **Thanks :-)

_A/N3 – Nicolas is quite negative in this chapter, but I wrote a story called 'A little chat with Nicolas' which I'll be uploading soon which should hopefully resolve a couple of things._

_A/N4 – Shameless plug, I know, but I don't suppose I could prod you into taking a look at my other fics?  Not many people have reviewed Children's Songs for Dark Wizards lately :-)_


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N - I know I said on my profile that I was leaving this until I'd finished HFHE and ADI but since they're both officially AU, I thought I'd do this first..._ **Chapter 5** Albus sat alone for a moment, not entirely sure whether he could approach the small groups of children his age who were talking and playing with cat's cradles and jacks and cards. Most of them seemed to know each other already. Perhaps there was a special preparatory school magic children went to – they'd think him frightfully behind in things. He scolded himself for being a coward, but despite this, he still felt at a loss for words. He heard a vague scuffling sound, and his attention was alerted to a boy who had just arrived. He was looking lost. Their eyes met briefly, and there was a moment of relief when they both realised that the other one was equally bewildered. The other boy approached and sat down. "Hallo! I say, frightful things, dragons, eh?" Albus swallowed when he heard the plummy accent, but spoke back bravely enough, though aware of the Cockney tone to his words. "I know… Gave me a shock when I saw 'em." "Oh yes, me too, me too…" The boy held out his hand. "I'm Brackenwood – Simon Brackenwood." Albus shook it. "I'm – Albus. Most people call me Allie." "Gosh, that seems frightfully strange. You wouldn't think my name was Simon considering how little I hear it. At school it was always Brackenwood, and Pater – Father – calls me 'son', and Mother calls me 'dear'… It all seems very odd to be called by one's Christian name." Albus searched his tone for mocking – but found none. The boy was sincere, and Albus sighed inwardly with relief, even though it seemed exceptionally bizarre that he was having a conversation with a boy who was probably from a family he would have counted himself lucky to work for. Was this another strange part of the new world? Anywhere else and Albus would have automatically doubted the chance of any sort of friendship, but they were two boys who were both wizards, in a box on top of a dragon, and to bring class into it seemed a rather base occupation. He would give the boy a chance. "Do you mind if I call you Simon? I'll get confused, calling you by your last name." The boy smiled magnanimously. "If you like. Give me some time to get used to it, though." There was a momentary silence. Then Simon said, "Are – are you from a wizard family?" "No," Albus said, which he felt was true enough, considering. "Neither am I," said Simon, sounding relieved. "Were you visited by Brother Anthony? He said he visits all – what's the word? – Muggleborns, to tell them about magic." "No… A man called Nicolas Flamel told me about magic. He's – a friend of my mama's." Well, not quite, Flamel did not seem to like his mother at all, but that was the story that would have to do. "Nicolas Flamel? The alchemist? I read about him! What sort of person is he?" "He's very kind," Albus said stiffly, suddenly uneasy that Simon would try to use him as a textbook. "What's Brother Anthony like?" "Oh… he's very kind too. He's a monk – a proper friar, you know, and you can tell by the way he acts. Mater – Mother – said he was a saint. It's so curious though, he's a wizard. You don't think of monks being wizards. But he made magic sound like the most normal thing in the world. He was wonderful." Albus smiled. "I think I'd have liked to meet him." He chuckled a little. "Mr. Flamel isn't really a saint. Although he did buy me Fawkes," he added. "Fawkes?" Albus motioned to the cage where the phoenix was. Fawkes was currently in an adolescent stage, the bird proudly strutting around and showing off his rather stubby plumage. "I say! What sort of bird is that?" "He's a phoenix." "Is he really? I read about them. But it's so hard to believe that all the stories I was told by Elspeth – my nanny – when I was a child… All those stories had some truth in them." "My mama used to tell me stories about wizards all the time. I think she knew – about me." "Perhaps Elspeth knew about me… Father always did say she was queer." There was a startling shudder, the boys were thrown back into their seats, and a couple of the others screamed in surprise. "It's all right," said a much older girl Albus hadn't noticed before. "We're taking off. We should be at Hogwarts in a couple of hours." "I wonder who she is?" Simon murmured. "Prefect," contributed a freckled girl behind them. "A girl as a prefect?" Simon furrowed his brows in apparent confusion. The freckled girl snorted. "Where are you from, Martin Muggle? Didn't you notice that girls go to Hogwarts too?" For a moment, Albus frowned, worried that there would be be an argument. However, Simon was true to his breeding. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, in a dignified tone. "I'm jolly glad that Hogwarts lets girls do the sort of things that bo-…" He trailed off for a second, and the girl quirked an eyebrow, although Albus got the impression that she was more amused at his confusion than angry. "The sorts of things that people say they can't do. My cousin Jane always gets herself in awful trouble playing with her brothers, my aunt says she isn't ladylike but I think that's all rot." "What an enlightened little Muggle you must be," the girl said sardonically, wrinkling her nose. It wasn't so much her words as her tone. She counted herself superior. Simon drew himself up. "Now see here. I don't think it's very fair for you to judge me on my background. I don't know how witches and wizards see things and just because you know what's what, that doesn't mean it's all right for you to make fun of me…" Whilst he was speaking, the freckled girl began to laugh. Albus didn't like the sound one bit – she was spiteful, a sort of bully. A sandy haired boy came over, and tugged at her. "Come on, Cass. It's not like a fellow can help his breeding." These words appeared to create even more shock in the face of Albus's new friend. Albus doubted that Simon had ever considered that his breeding could constitute a problem. He had been rendered speechless, beggared for a response. "It's not breeding I have a problem with, it's ignorance," the girl huffed. "In any case," the boy went on, in a similarly superior tone, ignoring the girl completely, "A Muggleborn's ten times better than a halfbreed. Father always said that a Muggleborn's a serendipity, but a halfbreed's a product of perversity. Come along, Cass…" The freckled girl arose, and tossing her hair, followed the boy. Albus and Simon were silent after the pompous pronouncement of the boy, then Simon snorted, evidentally rather annoyed, both at the two they had just met, and at himself. "Well I think that's rot. It's not like one can help it either way." Albus nodded but didn't say anything. Was he a 'halfbreed'? * In the late afternoon, the dragon landed, shaking them all up and throwing them into disarray without warning. In a brief moment where no one spoke whilst they scrambled to their feet, Albus heard Fawkes gently cooing. The sound heartened him somehow. Taking up the cage carefully, he and Simon followed the prefects as they led the first years out. At the door, the girl who had spoken to them all earlier tapped her wand against the door frame, and a staircase appeared. Albus gasped, then checked himself. When would he stop being surprised by magic? They were in a rugged meadow surrounded by trees. The air was chillier than it had been in the morning, and Albus pulled his cloak around himself for warmth. "I don't see any school," Simon murmured, earning a sharp look from the caustic freckled girl. "First years, this way…" An old man, scruffy but with brilliant, mischievous green eyes, was calling. The prefects ushered them on, and another group of first years joined them from another dragon across the meadow. They followed the old man, who brought them to a small harbour. "Four to a boat. Come now, don't be shy." The man's voice was croaky with age. Albus stepped forward, and he and Simon got into a boat, followed by two girls, neither of which was, thankfully, the spiteful freckled girl. The boats started floating out of their own accord. The girls smiled shyly at them – neither of the boys being accustomed to girls, their returning smile was equally shy. "I'm Brackenwood – Simon Brackenwood," Simon said, politely. "Albus – Allie, if you like," Albus contributed. The girls smiled, looked at one another, and then looked back. "I'm Josephine Tilby," said one. She had dark brown hair, a round face, and a pretty smile. "Josie." "Serendipity Malfoy," the other said. Blonde, waiflike. "My friends call me Dippy." "Serendipity's a pretty name," Simon said courteously, although a quick look exchanged between the two of them informed Albus that he, too, was reminded of the sandy haired boy's words of earlier. Serendipity smiled. "It means 'happy accident'. I'm the youngest in my family, my mother didn't think she would have another." Josephine frowned. "Dippy, are you…" Her words trailed off. Simon had gasped. Serendipity was staring goggle-eyed up ahead, and Albus could instantly see why. "That's Hogwarts…" Josephine said, her voice full of awe. Fawkes was singing again, sweetly and eerily, and deep down in his heart, Albus felt a distant aching… He was longing for something he'd never known. * The crowd of first years were ushered into the hallway, hushed by their mutual apprehension. A sharp-faced woman entered and glared at them, then spoke. "First years will be sorted shortly. Ensure you are all presentable." She exited, and left them alone for ten minutes. They exploded into fumbling activity, straightening hats and ties, and polishing boots, the air resounding with nervous chatter. The woman entered again, and they fell silent, instantly. The woman's eyebrow quirked momentarily, then she said, "Form a straight line and follow me." They did so, shuffling eagerly into place, and then found themselves marching into the Great Hall, between rows and rows of people. Above, Albus saw not the ceiling, but the sky, yet it was not cold in here. Eventually, they were assembled at the front, and there was a shabby hat atop a vacant chair. Presently, it began to sing. _Nine hundred years have I been here  
To sing my merry song  
Yet at the turning of each year  
It never seems so long;  
For children will always put me on  
Just as the year before  
Those coloured houses strips they don  
Just as the Founding Four.  
Salazar Slytherin, the cunning old soul  
Desired all those with ambition  
Those clever and wily in every role  
Are called Slytherin's by tradition.  
Rowena Ravenclaw, a woman of wit  
Was of intellectual persuasion  
She required those of intelligent knit  
Sorted to her on this fine occasion  
Godric Gryffindor, the chilvalrous lord  
Was possessed of courage peerless  
His house fight evil with wand or sword  
They are called the noble and fearless  
Helga Hufflepuff, loyal and kind  
Urged on those with compassion  
Those pure of heart and loving in mind  
Behave after Helga's fashion  
The house of one of these four  
Will become yours this day  
So put me now upon your head  
I'll sort you if I may  
Not in your face or ancestry  
But deep inside your mind  
Your thoughts alone will tell me  
I'll direct you as I find_ The entire hall broke out into applause. Albus's stomach turned over, unsure of what was to happen next. A name was called. "Aylesbury, Aisling!" A small girl squeezed forward, and the woman shoved her towards the chair. Tentatively, she put on the hat. After a few moments, it shouted, "RAVENCLAW!" One of the tables began to cheer, as the blushing Aisling approached them. "Black, Rigel!" A sneering boy pushed through, and the process was repeated. This time the hat yelled, "SLYTHERIN!" "Brackenwood, Simon!" Simon edged towards the hat, and tried it on. It took a little longer this time. Then, "GRYFFINDOR!" Albus watched reluctantly as Simon's face turned to a relief that the ordeal seemed to be over, and one of the tables cheered him on. Catkin, Sarah; Connor, Hayden; Daniels, Naomi; Dervish, Harold all passed and were sorted into their respective houses. Then, "Dumbledore, Albus!" He stumbled forward, suddenly aware of whispering that seemed to be happening in the background as he walked towards the hat. He put it on. A small voice began to speak, quietly. "Ah, a Dumbledore. A little different this time, perhaps. You're not quite Ravenclaw – there's time but I don't think you're going in that direction. I know… GRYFFINDOR!" Although to Albus's eyes they looked slightly surprised, the Gryffindor table cheered with all their might, and, suddenly feeling much better, he went to sit down next to Simon. *** _A/N - Up next - the rest of the bad bunch, and with any luck, first lessons at Hogwarts!_ Thanks to... CrimsonShinigami! Thank you very much :) I have to confess that I really enjoyed writing the bit where they bought Fawkes. I love that phoenix... Gina Starr! Isabelle probably does wish she was magic, for a number of reasons :-) I'm glad this doesn't sound too Philosopher's Stone to you, I think I've had to check myself a couple of times. AgiVega! Yes, the Hogwarts Express wouldn't exist yet but I didn't want to write something boring :-) MorningLight! Hehe, glad you like it :-) Sorry I didn't update sooner. Flamewing! Wait and see ;-) Thanks for your nice comment on the dragon rides :) Odd World! It's nice to have you back, if only briefly... Aaah, siblings... Hope to hear from you soon :) _Thanks also to everyone who reviewed **A Little Chat with Nicolas**. If you haven't read it, please do, it's a Book 1 era story with Nicolas Flamel in it! _

Please review!


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Albus found it a lot easier to watch the Sorting now that he wasn't going to have to participate. They cheered as Ferguson, Matilda was sorted into Gryffindor, and then soon enough he heard an name that he recognised. "Higgins, Elise!" She must have been on the other dragon. The girl calmly approached the hat, and put it on. After a few moments, she too was sorted into Gryffindor.

Albus waved as she came to sit down – she smiled and shyly waved back.

"Friend of yours, Allie?" Simon asked.

"Sort of. I met her in Diagon Alley. Hello, Elise."

"Hello Allie." She looked awfully young. "How is Fawkes?"

"He's all right, the man with the boats said he would look after him…" Albus found himself in the curious position of having to introduce someone, and for a moment fumbled over formalities. "Elise… this is Simon."

"How do you do," Simon said, suddenly sounding so well-bred that a few people laughed. But Elise smiled and shook his hand.

They looked up again as Lewes, Alexander was made a Gryffindor. Both Simon and Albus nearly started to clap, but stopped when they saw that Alexander Lewes was the sandy haired boy they had met on the trip. The two boys exchanged glances. Malfoy, Serendipity was next – Serendipity was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Albus heard someone near them remark, "Well that's a relief."

"What do you mean?" asked Naomi Daniels, who had been sorted before Albus.

The girl who had spoken, who was a couple of years older than them, explained. "The Malfoys were formerly all Slytherins, and most of them dark wizards at that. There has been a recent train of Hufflepuffs, but the Slytherins are still around – Iona Malfoy is in Slytherin and she's evil. Hexing and jinxing – all kinds of dark spells."

"Are you sure Serendipity's safe?" Naomi asked, in a worried tone, but the girl just laughed. "Slytherins are evil, Ravenclaws can be too, and unfortunately, Gryffindor's turned up a few bad apples as well. But there has never been a dark witch or wizard in Hufflepuff. Serendipity's probably as harmful as a baby rabbit."

"Noakes, Cassandra!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

"It's her," Simon murmured, and Albus looked up. The freckled girl was walking to the Ravenclaw table.

"At least we didn't get that one," Albus mumbled. Nearby, Alexander Lewes jostled with his new housemates, unaware of the hostility directed to him. Of course he didn't know that way he'd condescendingly allowed Muggleborns had been offensive – Albus had learned long ago that most nasty people were completely unaware of the hurt they caused. The boy was at least better than the bullies Albus had known – most of them revelled in the knowledge that they could hurt people. It had been different with rich people. They didn't even notice him and his mother, but trampled them and trod on their toes, seeing them as non-people, like some sort of street furniture. These people would look surprised if you caught their attention, and look scandalised if you dared to suggest them unfair. Alexander Lewes appeared to be one of them.

When everyone had been Sorted, a stately figure rose from the front table – a man, in red embroidered robes, with neat side-burns, a moustache and carefully curled brown hair under his very tall hat. "That's Professor Zephyra," the older girl whispered. "He's strict but quite nice really."

"Attention, everyone! Welcome to Hogwarts for another year – for some of you, your first. It is a time to exert yourselves. To work hard for self-improvement. At the end of your time here – for some of you, very soon indeed – you will emerge as fully trained wizards, and I expect you all to be a credit to this, the magical institution in which you were trained. Let me see no one shirking – better that you be sent back to your parents than waste our valuable time."

Albus trembled, even though he wished for nothing more than to see Mama again. He didn't want to see her in a state of disgrace. He would hate to be a disappointment.

"Those of you who have attended Muggle schools or had Muggle tutors will be required to identify yourselves…"

Albus and Simon looked at each other. "Do you think we have a lot to catch up?" Simon asked, glumly. Albus shrugged. He knew he had a lot to catch up. And he couldn't read. What would they say when they knew?

"Now it is a time to be proud to be in Hogwarts. All rise for the singing of the school song."

Albus squinted at the unfamiliar words the Headmaster conjured up. He mumbled along next to Simon, wondering if they were singing a foreign language.

iZealous scholars stand ye tall

And laud in aspiration

Hearts aloft, with zest be full

In choice not subjugation.../i

Word after confusing word, Albus stumbled along, feeling miserably out of his depth. Afterwards, he was at least pleased to note some strained expressions in the faces of his fellow Gryffindors. Alexander Lewes was grimacing, Naomi Daniels looked shell-shocked, Elise looked bewildered and Simon shrugged.

"Someone has to change that," Naomi said. "It's dire. What was it, Latin?"

"English," Alexander said scornfully – Albus didn't quite understand how he had a reason to scorn.

"What did it mean then?" Naomi responded, with a rather smug smile. The boy looked away, and started talking to an older pupil about house points.

Professor Zephyra coughed pointedly. "If I may have your attention again. Brother Anthony is going to say grace."

If ever anyone had made Albus think of the stereotypical jolly monk, with red cheeks, a brown habit, and a glorious smile, it was Brother Anthony. He arose from the teachers' table and came forward. Albus saw a smile spread on Simon's face.

"Welcome!" Brother Anthony boomed. "To our newcomers, and our not so new! It is a good time to be thankful – of course, it is always a good time to be thankful – we teachers have your refreshing faces after such a long dull summer, and you, with any luck, feel just as pleased to see us again!" There was some laughter, and the occasional snort. "May I say that I am particularly looking forward to this meal rather than my usual boiled cabbage. In any case, it is time for a prayer."

Albus had never seen such a disordered response to the announcement of a prayer. Some heads bowed automatically, other people merely put their hands together – a few ignored him entirely and sat back, pointedly with their eyes and hands open, heads unbowed. God wasn't used with the cane in this place. Albus didn't know whether to be pleased or frightened. He bowed his own head, and clasped his hands.

"Father God, another year begins at Hogwarts and may it be one that you have blessed. Another feast our House Elves have prepared – may we be truly grateful to them and to you! I ask you to comfort those who feel afraid, and give your humility to those of us – myself included – who are beginning to feel rather proud of ourselves. We thank you for our magic – bless its use. We thank you for all the things you're going to teach us – including me – this year. In Jesus' name, amen."

There were a few echoes of the "Amen". Albus – and a few others – stared at Brother Anthony in bewilderment. Where were the admonitions, where was the preaching? Strangely for a teacher in prayer, Brother Anthony seemed to have actually addressed God rather than what Albus was used to – "Dear God, keep us all in line and well behaved and may we work hard and quietly and not vex our teachers…"

"Headmaster – if you will," Brother Anthony said. Professor Zephyra clapped his hands, and an enormous feast appeared before them. Albus and Simon gasped in unison.

Naomi smiled happily. "That is what I call a feast."

Without further pause, they began to eat. Even Flamel's food hadn't been this wonderful and this plentiful. No one spoke for a moment, their mouths stuffed full of food. When the edge had been taken off their appetite, conversations began. Simon asked a prefect politely about lessons, and they were busy discussing Potions and Transfiguration. Naomi was talking with a couple of other girls about the uniform. Elise seemed as nervous as he did, so he gave her a smile.

"How do you people all know each other?" Albus heard a Muggleborn girl exclaim. It appeared to be due to Naomi and Alexander getting into an argument. Alexander replied grandly, "Our parents were in Gryffindor. And their parents. And their parents…"

The girl looked impressed, but Naomi and a few others didn't share the expression. Naomi said, "It's just there aren't a lot of wizards, or wizarding schools. Most of us with wizarding parents know each other by sight at least – Alec here is my cousin."

"Much to my own embarrassment," Alexander added. Albus got the impression they had been arguing for a very long time.

"And mine too," Naomi said. "And…" She turned to Elise. "Elise, isn't it? I've seen you at a couple of fairs, your parents grow some amazing flowers."

Elise nodded, quietly. Then Naomi looked bewildered, and turned to Albus. "How is it I've never seen you?"

"I…" Along the table, there was a clattering, as the rest of the house stood up. A prefect arose and called loudly. "First years, follow me!"

Later on, they settled into their dormitory. Albus let Fawkes out, and the other boys marvelled over him, but they soon retreated into a conversation about Quidditch to which he and Simon could not contribute. Simon and Albus decided to pick beds next to each other – despite the astronomical differences between them, and the fact that Albus had played in back alleys where Simon had played in fields, neither knew many sports past cricket. They talked about less magical things.

"I'm terribly nervous about lessons," Simon said. "But a prefect said that most magical children our age don't know any magic at all."

"I'm nervous too," Albus said, then blushed. He might as well say it – keeping it a secret was making him feel lonely. "I – I'm not very good at reading."

Simon looked a little shocked, but then he swallowed and smiled. "I'll help you – if you like. And besides, I think a lot of magic will be more about saying words than reading or writing them."

"Thanks," Albus said, feeling relieved for more than one reason. "What have we got tomorrow?"

Simon examined the timetable. "Double Transfiguration, and Double Herbology," he said.

Albus grimaced. "Sounds hard."

"I know – oh, I'd better write to Mater." He scrambled for a pen and paper.

"Who?"

"Mother. She's been worried sick – she didn't like the look of those dragons."

Albus gave him a wistful look. "Neither did my Mama."

Simon hesitated over the paper, plainly struggling over what to say.

"Do you – do you want to borrow some paper?"

Albus thought – and then nodded. He watched Simon write beautifully, with all twists and curls. He turned to his piece of paper, and took out his quill. Compared to Simon's long letter, which no doubt would tell his mama every detail, Albus's might be rather lacking. But Mama had never got a letter from him before, so he resolved to write one.

'Dear mama,

how do you do. I am wel. forks is happy and I maid a frend.

lots of love,

Allie xxxx'

It was splotchy and in uneven print, but he'd never written a letter before. He missed Mama already, he realised, even though meeting Simon and helpful prefects had taken out the sting of being alone. How would she be doing without him? He sighed, deeply.

Simon put down his letter. "I don't even know how to post this. Brother Anthony said that wizards send owls to people, but I don't have an owl."

"The school does," said a boy who was playing cards with a couple of the others, looking up at them. "Ask the prefects – they can take you to the tower."

"Oh – thanks Will," Simon replied. "We'll go tomorrow, I suppose."

Albus thought of what Mama's face might look like when she got the letter. He smiled.

In the morning, they ate a good breakfast and went to their first lesson – Transfiguration. Gryffindor had this lesson with Hufflepuff – Serendipity gave Albus and Simon a wave. The teacher was Professor Hills, who was a rather eccentric woman with curly blonde hair drawn back into a pony tail, and a purple robe with long trailing sleeves. She stood at the front of the class, and drew her arms wide.

"Transfiguration – a rather exciting brand of magic," she said. "Very useful to the wizard in an emergency, and, of course, very fun. Wands at the ready, everyone! Mr. Prewett – please come here."

A rather gangly boy who was tall for his age stepped forward from amongst the Hufflepuffs.

"Do you have a pet?" Professor Hills asked him.

He nodded, and reached into his pocket, only to pull out a guinea pig. There were some laughs and a few squeals from the class.

"Do you trust me, Mr. Prewett?" she said, rather ominously.

"Ye-es…" the boy said slowly.

Professor Hills took the guinea pig, and placed it on her desk. "What's her name?"

"Victoria, Professor."

Professor Hills nodded approvingly. "Very patriotic. Are you sure you trust me?"

Prewett didn't look at all sure. "I – yes, Professor."

She removed her wand, and in a smooth motion, flicked it over the guinea pig. "Mutarapane!"

In place of the animal was a small, guinea pig-shaped loaf of bread. Professor Hills picked it up. Prewett looked panicky.

"Are you hungry, Mr. Prewett?" she asked.

"N-no, Professor."

"Do you still trust me?"

"P-please change her back." The boy was literally shaking now. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and put the loaf of bread down. "Restore."

The guinea pig returned. The class burst into spontaneous applause.

"Very well done Mr. Prewett – five house points." Professor Hill smiled. "I hope I've made clear some of the risks involved with Transfiguration. We will not be attempting anything so complex today, but I would request that, for future notice, if you find yourself in any kind of trouble during the lesson, do not plough ahead regardless. This can be a dangerous art – and poor Victoria could have literally ended up as toast. So be careful. Miss Malfoy, if you could distribute these matches to everyone…"

And for the first time, Albus was able to use his wand, this mysterious instrument which had only been an accessory before. It was, to start off with, disappointing. The spell for matchsticks into needles was scarcely the most inspiring thing he could have conceived of – and most people could barely manage any silvering in their matches at all. Albus concentrated hard… He decided to close his eyes, and imagine the match in his hand turning to smooth metal. Clearly now… He said the words. Something began to move beneath his fingers – then it was gone, a momentary tingle.

He opened his eyes. The matchstick looked more like a matchstick than ever before. He glared at it, willing it to change… imagining even as he said the words, the transition.

He dropped it in shock, and heard the tickle as it landed. Professor Hills turned around, and stared at the desk. She picked up the silvery thing – the needle – and examined it.

"Attention class," she said excitedly. "I think we have our first success! Mr…"

"Dumbledore," Albus supplied. Her eyebrows quirked. "Mr. Dumbledore – to see that you are not playing tricks on me…" She reached for his wand.

"Priori Incantatem."

A ghost of a needle shot of Albus's wand. Professor Hills smiled. "An unusual talent, Mr. Dumbledore. Five points to Gryffindor. Now…" She put the wand and the needle back on his desk. "See if you can change it back."

For a moment, the class were silent – you could hear a pin drop, Albus mused – so he raised his wand. "Restore."

A weird greyish hybrid lay before him. Professor Hills picked it up. "And that is why you should be careful when changing things back," she said. "A very good first attempt – back to work, everyone."

Albus left the lesson with the warm glow of one who has suddenly discovered he is good at something. Poor Simon, on the other hand, hadn't made much of a change at all, so he tried to keep his celebration private. And yet the feeling of relief was immense. Over lunch, some of the others asked him if he'd done it before, and stared incredulously at him when he said no! Afterwards, he asked a prefect where the owlery was and went to send his and Simon's letters. It shouldn't have taken that long – but on the way back he met someone who provided a bit of a hindrance.

The person – if he could be called a person, burst out from a wall, and grabbed his nose. "GOT YER CONK!" he shrieked, in a dreadful voice. Albus stumbled back. "Wh-who are you?"

"Didn't they tell you about me?" taunted the apparition. "I'm the one who haunts your every nightmare!"

Albus began to feel a little bolder. "What – every nightmare?"

The ghost gave him a look.

"I've got to go to Herbology," Albus said.

"It's that way," said the ghost, pointing right.

"No it's not," Albus said, frowning. "It's straight on."

"You're not coming this way," said the ghost, sulkily, and stood by the entrance way, arms akimbo.

Albus bit his lip. Surely he could walk straight through? He stalked forward, but no sooner had he met with the ghost's chilly body than a great wind had blown him back. He stumbled. The ghost had a smug expression. "It's that way," the ghost said. Albus shrugged – you couldn't beat this bully with fists, and so, defeated, he went the way the ghost was pointing.

He made it to Herbology late – by about ten minutes. The teacher, a very tall man with a long nose, gave him a terrible glare.

"I'm sorry sir – there was a ghost…"

His eyes met Simon's – he was already seated, and gave Albus a helpless but sympathetic expression.

The teacher scowled at him. "This is not tolerable. Ten points from Gryffindor."

Simon mouthed in shock, "Ten?" Albus's stomach turned over. His first full day and he had already lost more points than he had won.

"Sit, boy," the teacher said, pointing to an empty desk at the front. Albus went to sit down, feeling the eyes of the teacher glaring at him.

The teacher turned to the class. "As I was saying – I expect decorum at all times. You are to address me as Professor Dumbledore."

_So did you guys think I'd abandoned this forever? Of course not… just a year… that's normal isn't it? Why are you staring at me like that? Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter._

_Thanks to my reviewers._

**_Asarielle: _**_Please don't kill me :) I know the wait has been just too ridiculous._

**_Kemenran: _**_Thanks!_

**_AgiVega: _**_ I thought you'd appreciate 'Rigel Black' :)_

**_Gina Starr: _**_I hope you liked this chapter :)_

**_Sheyla Potter: _**_Thanks a lot! A good book to read is "What's a Christian to do with Harry Potter?"_

**_Gusha: _**_I'm glad he makes you smile :)_

**_Athena Hermmie: _**_Thanks!_

**_Zyorai: _**_I'm glad you like the dragons, and thanks!_

**_Mockingbirdflyaway: _**_I'm glad you noticed Aberforth… He's not going to be a main character but I'll find a way to get him in, I promise._

**_Astralytic: _**_Thanks!_

**_Dark Queen of Roses: _**_I'm glad you like the Sorting hat's song. I think it's my favourite out of the ones I've written so far… although I have a slightly different style one prepared for my OotP musical fic. _

**_C-chan: _**_Hiya! I'm glad you like it, thanks very much for the comment._


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